Ironhold, Trial One (Ironhold #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My heart hammers with anticipation and fear. I have known that this moment is coming, but that is very different from facing it, from finally reaching the point where I am to be thrown into the arena to die.

I cannot imagine how I might live. I have already shown that I am not ruthless or deadly enough for the arena. I survived my bout against Vex through pure luck and bonding with a shadow cat. That will not save me against whatever beast I am to face.

“Didn't you hear me?” the trainer snaps. “Move!”

The soldiers move forward, their shields in front of them, so that I must either move or be shoved onto the sands by those shields. They have canes in their hands, ready to beat me if I do not move, ready to drive me into the arena the way they would any other beast prepared for combat.

I walk ahead of them instead of waiting for that. I blink as I move from the shadowy confines of the areas beneath the colosseum out into the bright sunlight. A wall of sound hits me as I step out, spectators roaring in anticipation of the next bout. For a moment, all I can think of all the slabs on which the healers try to patch up the injured, and on which they leave the slain. Gyra’s dead features stare back at me in my imagination, somehow accusing in death even though I have done nothing to bring her death about. Maybe it's just the jealousy of the dead for the living, the constant question of why I should live when she is dead.

I force myself to bring my attention back to the colosseum around me, testing the feel of its sands beneath my feet as I step into the middle of it. I can see the spectators staring down at me, some of them rushing to the betting booths to place last-minute wagers one way or another. I wonder how many will be betting that I die. Cheers, jeers, and whistles come from the stands.

I look around the watching faces, trying to gauge the emotions of those there. I see bloodlust, interest, the joy that comes with the prospect of more violence to come. Do any of them see me as a real human being? Do any of them care that I might be about to bleed and die on these sands?

One figure stands out from the rest, standing at the front of the grandest box in the arena, robed in purple, with a circle of golden laurel leaves on his brow. He is middle-aged and slender, clean-shaven, with strong features and eyes that seem to miss nothing. I know who this must be: the emperor, Tiberius VI.

He is looking me over as if trying to gauge how long I will last, as if trying to decide if I'm of any interest to him. This is the man in whose name I was seized, this is the reason I am in the colosseum at all.

The emperor waves a hand casually to a grey-robed official, a large, shaven-headed man, festooned in golden chains and jewelry. It seems the emperor does not even deign to speak about me. He has an announcer for that.

“Fellow citizens of Aetheria,” the announcer booms, his voice carrying easily around the colosseum. It carries so well that I wonder if he is using magic to project his voice. Is that his talent? I wonder if he ever had to fight down here? No, probably not. Not if he was born a citizen of the city and not with such a minor gift. "For our next bout, we have another newcomer to the games! Fresh blood, for your entertainment!”

The noise around the arena intensifies; it seems that people like the thought of someone new to bleed for them.

“This is the gladiator Lyra, taken from the conquered villages of the coast! They say she is as fierce as she is lovely, and I think we can agree she is quite lovely.”

He laughs and I redden as I realize that now every eye is on me, assessing me, and my armor barely covers enough for decency.

“Her trainers say that she can speak with beasts,” the announcer says. “So perhaps she will be able to beg them for mercy.”

He laughs again. It's clear the story he is telling: that I am here to die rather than to win. I see more people hurrying over to the betting stalls. Obviously, the news of what I can do has convinced them that I have no chance in the bout to come.

“Since her talents lie with beasts, we have decided to give her one to face in her first fight in the colosseum. Do you want to see what she will face? Do you?”

The announcer is whipping the crowd up into a frenzy, they shout back their demands, stamping their feet as they do so, so that the rhythm of it reverberates around the colosseum.

“Show us! Show us!”

I know that I am not the point of the bout now. This is only one step removed from the way they killed the so-called traitors earlier. It is about throwing someone to the beasts, about the spectacle of a gory death. One look over at the betting vendors shows me that no one really believes I'm going to win. They are setting out sand timers, obviously, so people can bet on how long I will last before I die.

I want to know what creature I will be facing as much as the crowd does. Will it be a shadow cat, like the ones before? Will it be a chimera or a manticore? Will they pit me against a horde of smaller creatures, such as the dog-sized scorpions I saw back in the beast pits of Ironhold?

“Behold!” the announcer calls out above the sounds of the crowd. “The Ironhide!”

A gate at the far side of the arena opens, and a creature comes through. It is massive, larger than a horse or a bear. It looks a little like a rhinoceros, except that its skin truly does appear to be a kind of living iron, and it's horn is an iron spike that will drive through any armor. Its eyes glow a faint red, and I can sense the fury in it. This is a beast bred for battle and killing, an unstoppable force once it gets moving. It paws the ground, like a bull, glaring at me.

I can feel that it hates this place, that it hates humans. If it could, it would strike out at all the people in the stands, but it cannot reach them. I I'm the only one down on the sands with the creature, and it is clear that it will try to take all its hatred out on me.

I raise my net and trident, wondering what good they will be against such a beast. Fear fills me, but I also find myself shifting into a fighting position. I do not want to die here. I will fight to live.

Even as I think it, the creature charges. It is faster than I thought it would be, given its size. The magically infused iron in its hide does not seem to slow it down. It is on me almost before I can react. I must throw myself to the side, rolling back to my feet as the creature turns. The crowd lets out a cheer, then a sound of anticipation as the Ironhide turns for another pass.

They let out a sigh of disappointment as I avoid it again. Some of them boo me as if they think I should just stand in the creature’s path and let it trample or gore me. I keep moving instead, keep trying to avoid its attacks. It swings its head around at me so that I must dance aside from that metal horn.

I try to find ways to fight back. The next time it charges, I attempt to tangle its legs in my net. I swing it low and around, exactly the way I have practiced on the posts back at Ironhold. My cast is perfect, the net sailing out and swinging around the Ironhide’s front legs. But the posts were static things. They did not have the momentum or the strength of this creature. I realize too late that I am not strong enough to trip the Ironhide. Instead, my grip on the net means that I am dragged from my feet, pulled along the sands, feeling them burn my exposed flesh. It is all I can do to pull my dagger and cut myself free from my net.

I have dropped my trident. I scramble for it as the Ironhide swings around for another charge. I manage to snatch it up as the creature reaches me again, and I move to the side, jabbing out with the weapon because I do not know what else to do. It scrapes across the iron skin of the beast without penetrating it.

Worse, the Ironhide is able to change direction just a little, following my attempt to dodge it. It does not hit me head on, does not spear me with that iron horn, but the impact is still enough to send me flying from my feet, sent tumbling through the air, to land hard in the sand.

The world seems to be spinning around me, thanks to the impact. I can feel pain blossoming in my ribs. I stand unsteadily, using my trident to help me balance. The Ironhide is approaching slowly now. It must know that it does not need to hurry, by now. It has worked out that I cannot hurt it.

I do not have a way to kill this beast, and that means all I can do is keep dodging, until I am finally too slow, and it is able to kill me. I have no other options. I am going to die here.